


What a Loud Winter We Have This Year

by Scorpling



Category: The Moomins Series - Jansson
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scorpling/pseuds/Scorpling





	What a Loud Winter We Have This Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emei/gifts).



Too-Ticky woke up as the night was fading into grey morning, the darkness reluctantly giving way to the dusky half-light of day.

She pulled the covers off of her all in one go. _Better to take the plunge_, she thought, and put her feet on the floor. It felt like ice against her soles. She curled her toes and shuddered.

There was not much wood left; she would have to go get more that afternoon, or later. The days had been getting colder and colder. The Lady of the Cold could not be far away. When she came, you wanted a good fire. Too-Ticky struck a match to light the stove, and looked into the crackling flames until her nose felt warm again.

The invisible mice scurried around her feet. She greeted them good morning with a friendly nod, then sat down by the table. Her stomach growled quietly, calling for breakfast. Through the red and green window panes, she could see the sea stretch on and on, the straight, thin line of horizon only barely separating it from the sky.

Coffee was ready. A cup floated toward her through the air, followed by a sandwich with butter and two thin slices of cheese.

"Thank you," said Too-Ticky, and her stomach growled along in appreciation.

She drank from the saucer, slurping her coffee with a lump of sugar between her teeth. It was strong and scalding hot. The warmth filled her belly, spread through her arms and legs until every last trace of night-cold had melted away.

The bath house was glowing with heat; so was she. The day was new and only hers.

"I'm going out now," said Too-Ticky, and put her cap on her head.

\--

More snow had fallen during the night. Her old footprints on the jetty were completely erased, and her paths in the forest were covered, only faint outlines hinting at where they used to be. Too-Ticky decided to make new paths. She trudged across the beach and into the forest. The snow lay deep and it was hard work, but she huffed a song under her breath and kept a fast, steady pace. This was winter. Trudging and huffing and waking to a changed world every morning. Too-Ticky didn't mind it.

She reached the sleeping Moomin house. There were no footprints anywhere. Moomin must not be up yet. _Maybe he's decided to go back in hibernation_, she thought, but didn't really believe it herself.

One side of the house was snowed in, a giant snowdrift leaning over it like a wave that had frozen the moment before lunging against the shore. Too-Ticky waded around it, to the veranda. Peeking through the windows would be rude, so she only peered at them from below the stairs, meeting their hollow glass-eyes.

She would not wake Moomin, she decided. He might need his sleep. But she would make him a surprise, something to greet him once he went out. She bent down and picked up a fistful of snow. It crunched merrily in her hand. Perfect for building.

Too-Ticky went to work with great zeal. She made four strong legs and a grand body, a long neck and a beautiful head. When she was done, Too-Ticky was flushed and sweaty, and the ground around her creation was trampled and hard. She took a step back and admired it. It looked just like a real horse.

In the shed behind the Moomin house she found a broom for tail, and on her way back she almost stepped on two small mirrors lying abandoned in the snow. Too-Ticky had found many different things embedded in the snowdrifts, but never before a mirror. She looked around, but didn't see anyone they could belong to, and there were no footprints to give her a clue. They became eyes for the horse. _For the time being_, she thought, and saw her own reflection smile back at her.

It was a majestic horse she had made. Majestic and wild, with shining eyes. He looked as though he would start galloping over the ice at any moment. Once she had poured river-water over him, he really would, and the thought filled her with joy. She felt that she needed to sing.

Too-Ticky walked to the bridge, out of earshot from the Moomin house. Then she sang, her voice resounding loud and triumphant.

\--

Moomin was rude and surly and not in the mood to talk when he woke up. But in the mood to sing, it seemed. After he left her on the bridge, she heard his voice rise over the trees in an angry song of protest against winter. _He'll get over it_, she thought, and calmly sang her own song to end.

There would be no use in going after Moomin and trying to console him. He needed to be mad for a little while. Instead she jumped off the railing where she had been perched, and started making a path toward the mountains.

After a while she changed course toward the hill. She didn't ponder the decision, just went wherever her fancy took her. The hill was round and white and smooth, like the head of a hattifattener growing out of the ground. Too-Ticky stopped. Maybe it wasn't so smooth, after all. When she looked closer, she could see long, thin tracks down the side.

She heard the voice before she saw her. "Watch out!" someone screamed, and then something wooshed past Too-Ticky with breakneck speed, showering her in a shimmering cascade of snow. It swung to an elegant halt little further down, and laughed.

Too-Ticky brushed the snow from her nose. Then she laughed, too. She had never seen anyone go for a sled-ride on a silver tray before – dressed in a tea cosy, no less.

"Hello," said Too-Ticky, when she had stopped laughing.

"If you don't keep out of the way," yelled the other cheekily, "I'll run you over and break all your bones." She was very small, so small she left no footprints in the snow. The tea cosy had holes for her head and arms, and the bun of hair on top of her head was red.

Too-Ticky politely stepped back. _What a big voice for someone so small_, she thought, and watched her make her way up the hill again.

Then Moomin appeared and got himself run over with a crash, making Too-Ticky laugh again. Once he and Little My –that was her name- were back on their feet, My decided she wanted to ride the tray on the ice.

That was an idea.

\--

The wind was strong. Moomin had lent them his tent to use as sail, and it flapped with a rattling sound in the chilly breeze. They had tied a fishing rod to one of the handles of the tray. That was the mast. Too-Ticky went inside the bath house for a candle and rubbed the underside of the tray with it.

"I'll go fast as lightning, and then faster!" said Little My with satisfaction.

"You'll go fast, all right," said Too-Ticky. "But stay clear of the reed and don't go into the bay."

"You have to tell me why, or I'll _have_ to go to see what happens," said Little My, and put her tiny hands on her hips. They sunk into the fluffy stuffing of the tea cosy.

"You'll go through the ice and drown," said Too-Ticky, "and you'll swell up with water and turn blue like a blueberry."

"Like a blueberry!" Little My nearly choked with laughter. "My sister would make me into pie!"

Too-Ticky frowned a little. _Is this one of the times where you should scold her?_, she wondered, but right then a gust of wind got hold of the sail. The tray bucked and the tarp flapped and while trying to hold the tray-sailer back, Too-Ticky lost her train of thought.

"Ho!" whooped Little My. "She's a wild one!" And then she was off.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" asked Moomin, squinting after her with an expression of worry on his face. Too-Ticky nodded.

"I think she'll be cold and wet. But she'll be fine."

\--

She first felt it as a small prickling in her left nostril. Then followed a dull sort of almost-ache that grinded into the bone. Too-Ticky sniffed the air and let the chill fill her nose. The great cold was coming. She could sense it.

Little My was still out on the ice. If she looked carefully, Too-Ticky could see a tiny red dot in all the white, dancing to and fro in the distance. _She won't have to come in just yet_, she thought, and turned her back to the sea.

Her new trails were very nice to walk, and she followed them with the contented feeling of a job well done. Smoke was rising from the Moomin house. She would have to warn him and all the others she could find, but there were things she had to see to first.

She found two old, dented buckets after rummaging through the shed. The ice was thin and transparent around the bridge support, and she crushed it with her foot, delighted by the sound. Filled with river-water, the buckets were heavy to carry. She tried hard not to spill too much. Too-Ticky soaked the horse from head to toe; then she stuffed her arms with as much firewood she could, and went back to the shore.

The wind had turned. When she stood on the ladder leading down to the frozen sea, it whipped her in the face, making her eyes tear. She held on to the door frame with one hand, waved with the other.

"Little My!" yelled Too-Ticky. The wind carried her voice in the wrong direction, twining it to a thin thread of sound that broke too soon. Too-Ticky yelled again. The small red dot out on the ice spun around a few times, then began to grow as Little My came closer.

"What's the ruckus," she shouted, skidding the last few meters before the bath house. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes shone. Frost clung to the embroidered rose on the front of the tea cosy.

"The great cold is coming," said Too-Ticky. "You have to keep inside tonight, it's very important. Even more important than steering clear of the reed."

Little My shrugged off her warning. "Take it easy," she said. "I'll come in when my toes get frostbitten. And you can always cover the Mymble in straw."

Too-Ticky looked after My as she sailed away. She was good at taking it easy, it was what she usually did. But right now it was a bit hard. Little My was so tiny, and that was always dangerous. Too-Ticky shut the door to the bath house carefully. _I suppose it's a good thing she seems to like danger_, she thought, and went to warn the rest.

\--

It was cold. The wind had stopped. The silence was solid. The sky was dark and strewn with stars and the earth cowered beneath it.

Little My's silver tray was tossed in the corner, the tea cosy was drying over the stove. Moomin's eyes were wide with fear. Too-Ticky put another log on the fire. "Don't look out," she said.

The Lady of the Cold strode slowly over the frozen sea, dreadfully white and hauntingly beautiful. Her deadly eyes were icy blue, her breath so cold it could burn.

Quietly, the invisible mice crawled into Little My's lap, curling up in her empty skirt. Too-Ticky scooted a little closer to the others. _Makes sense to take cover behind someone warm and loud_, she thought, and shivered under the Lady's icy gaze.

\--

"I'll sleep here tonight," said Little My, and that was that.

They wrapped the poor squirrel lying dead in the Lady's wake in a towel patterned with green sea shells. It was the most sombre one they could find. He would lie safely under the stairs until the next morning and the funeral.

Moomin walked home with sorrow in his steps. He wouldn't stay. "I have to see my family," he said. Too-Ticky waved him off, while Little My made a bed out of her knitted pull-over.

It didn't feel too extravagant to have a cup of evening coffee. The mice made the brew, and Too-Ticky fetched the sugar and a cup. She poured three drops in a thimble for Little My.

"And sugar!" Little My demanded. Before Too-Ticky could scrape off the corner of her lump, Little My had reached forward and stuffed a whole one in her mouth. Her cheeks bulged. Too-Ticky laughed. _A bit of sugar never killed anyone_, she thought, but hid the packet behind the soup-pot all the same.

Little My glanced to the door, swallowing the sugar. "I could make a muff of the squirrel's tail tonight, when Moomin's not here. He might cry tomorrow, but it will be too late," she said.

"That's not nice," said Too-Ticky. "When you decide something you stick to it, especially if it will hurt someone else if you don't." She agreed with Moomin. It was best to let the poor squirrel keep his tail in death.

"Now my hands will hurt instead," frowned Little My. She poured a drop of coffee on the table and smacked her hand down into it. It splashed wide, but didn't seem to cheer her up. Too-Ticky drank the last of her coffee.

"I could make you a muff," she said. "Out of my old mitten."

"That won't be half as good as squirrel-tail," said Little My. She thought for a moment, then added: "It can do for now, though. But if you forget to make it, I'll bite you!"

"I will do it. And there will be no biting," said Too-Ticky calmly.

"Yes, there will! Until you scream!" shouted Little My, and she laughed at the thought of Too-Ticky screaming until she fell off her chair and rolled in under the bed.

Too-Ticky poured herself another cup. _What a loud winter we have this year_, she thought, but she didn't mind it.


End file.
